Chapter 1: The Sovereign’s Well-Being

Twenty-eighth year of the Jiajing reign.
The seventeenth day of the third month, the day of Dinghai.

The morning light was faint, and despite the arrival of spring, the capital remained gripped by a lingering chill. Within the Forbidden City of Beijing, which stretched silently from north to south, the palace security was absolute, and no clamor dared break the stillness. From the Daming Gate to the Bei'an Gate, and from the Dong'an Gate to the Xi'an Gate, palace attendants and maids moved in silent, orderly processions as they began their day.

Inside the northwestern corner of the Donghua Gate, the Qingning Palace—with its ornate, cloud-touching eaves and shimmering cinnabar lacquer—was currently in a state of frantic disarray as servants hurried to and fro. The atmosphere was most oppressive within the bedchamber itself. Among the sea of kneeling eunuchs and palace maids, the sound of stifled sobbing could be heard.

On the bed, Zhu Zaiji’s eyes flickered, opening a narrow slit. The weeping at his bedside made his head spin.

"Gurgle..."
"Pah!"

Suddenly, Zhu Zaiji sat upright on the bed, a mouthful of dark, clotted blood surging from his throat, instantly staining his robes and the bedding.

Yet, this sudden movement acted as if a pause button had been pressed on the entire room. The weeping ceased instantly, and the chamber became so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.

There was no wind in the palace, but the kneeling servants felt a bone-chilling cold settle deep within their bodies. A case of the dead returning to life was unfolding right before their eyes!

The senior eunuchs in charge of the Eastern Palace were kneeling at the very front. In their terror, they instinctively tried to retreat, only to be blocked by those behind them. After a moment of panicked hesitation, one of them tremblingly raised his head.

"Yo... Your... Your Highness the Crown Prince?"

Receiving no response, the eunuch straightened his back slightly. "Your Highness?"

The hall remained silent. Everyone stayed on their knees, craning their necks to peer toward the bed. After what felt like an eternity, there was movement on the bed.

Having spat out the stagnant blood, Zhu Zaiji was scanning his surroundings with an indifferent expression. Though he was a youth in his teens, already possessing a handsome and striking appearance with a hint of hidden, resolute spirit between his brows, he was currently deathly pale and sickly.

Zhu Zaiji sighed inwardly. He had transmigrated.

He had crossed over from more than four hundred years in the future to become the son of the Jiajing Emperor, Zhu Houcong—the man known as the "Longevity Emperor." He could not tell if this was a blessing or a curse for an ordinary person like himself. After all, it was often said in later generations that the Ming dynasty did not fall with the Chongzhen Emperor, nor with the Tianqi Emperor, but truly ended with the Wanli Emperor, and began its demise with the Jiajing Emperor. He was well aware of how fierce the struggles within the imperial court were.

If one were to follow the conspiracy theories of the later generations, his predecessor’s death was suspicious—perhaps the work of the civil official faction. In Zhu Zaiji’s view, rather than labeling them as a "civil official faction," it was more accurate to describe them as a class of feudal landlords and gentry who, through ties of hometown, year of examination, and cohort, had woven a complex web from the local level to the central government, clustering together to pursue private interests. This was what they called "forming cliques for selfish gain."

Given the timeline and his own situation, it was highly probable that a conspiracy was indeed at play. How could a Crown Prince who had successfully held his capping ceremony just two days ago suddenly die today? The official historical records only used the word "sudden death" to describe the event.

Who was it? Or which faction?

Was it the coastal officials and maritime merchants of the southeast, who were being ruthlessly suppressed by Zhu Wan, the Governor of Zhejiang and concurrent Commander of Military Affairs for the Fujian Maritime Defense?

Or was it the gentry of Suzhou and Songjiang, who owed the imperial court millions of piculs in taxes and were being threatened with collection?

Or perhaps it was the civil and military officials of the Nine Frontier Garrisons and the Jin faction, who had begun to use the threat of invaders to their advantage, repeatedly requesting extra funds and supplies, only to have their requests halved or rejected?

Based on the information currently available to him, Zhu Zaiji could not pinpoint the culprit. Moreover, he did not know if, having taken over this life, he would face another assassination attempt.

However, he did not need to care whether a conspiratorial civil official faction truly existed. Whether they did or did not—he *needed* them to! They had to exist! To protect his own life and survive in this drafty Forbidden City, he only needed to leverage this very situation.

After all, no one could forget the Jiajing Emperor’s southern inspection, where he faced three fires and the Renyin Palace Coup. If not for Lu Bing’s selfless act of carrying him out of the fire, and the imperial physician Xu Shen’s daring gamble to administer medicine, this "Longevity Emperor" would have died a thousand times over. The theory of conspiracy already haunted the Emperor’s mind.

Zhu Zaiji only needed to deepen that paranoia. If even the Longevity Emperor could be burned by fire and strangled by palace maids, could his son possibly be safe? He would use this opportunity to plan, establishing a persona of loyalty and filial piety to gain more space and power.

Furthermore... the Longevity Emperor had been living in seclusion in the Western Park for seven years, spending his days discussing scriptures and Taoism with the Taoist Tao Zhongwen, and would likely continue to do so for decades to come. If that were the case, then his arrival here was destiny. The Ming dynasty—its thirteen provinces, its vast lands, and its countless people—would have to be carried on his own shoulders!

After long contemplation, Zhu Zaiji finally sorted out his thoughts. At that moment, the eunuch nearby, with a fearful and cautious expression, poked his head forward and whispered, "Your Highness?" The eunuch even reached out, keeping his distance, and waved his hand in the Prince's field of vision, as if to confirm whether the Crown Prince, who had clearly stopped breathing earlier, was haunting them or had truly come back to life.

Zhu Zaiji’s eyes moved. "Go to the Wanshou Palace in the Western Park!"

The eunuchs were stunned. Zhu Zaiji looked at them and reiterated, "This Prince wishes to seek an audience with the Emperor!"

This time, his voice was firmer. Without waiting for a reply, he threw off the covers, placed his feet on the ground, and prepared to walk out. His actions threw the attendants into a panic. At this point, they no longer cared whether the Prince was dead or alive. Some rushed to fetch boots, others to select robes. A large, chaotic crowd swarmed around him.

"Your Highness, it is still cold outside. If you must go to the Western Park, you should at least change your clothes."

As they spoke, the attendants began to pull boots onto his feet. When they prepared to change the blood-stained undergarment he was wearing, Zhu Zaiji blocked them with his hand and merely draped his outer robe over his shoulders. He looked down at the blood-stained garment on his chest.

What a perfect set of blood-stained clothes. Why would he change them?

Zhu Zaiji muttered to himself as he was supported by the attendants out of the sleeping chamber. Outside, a sedan chair had already been prepared. Wrapped in his outer robe, Zhu Zaiji said nothing more, stepped onto the chair, and let the attendants carry him toward the Wanshou Palace in the Western Park.

During the journey, Zhu Zaiji finally had a moment of quiet to think. The sedan chair swayed as it moved through the palace grounds, eventually entering the Western Park, where the waters rippled and the green willows cast their shade.

Crossing the Jade River Bridge in front of the Chengguang Palace and passing through the Lingxing Gate, Zhu Zaiji, leaning against the sedan chair, could already see the Wanshou Palace, situated to the south of the Imperial Storehouse. A short distance further, and they arrived before the palace.

"Stop," he said, his voice laced with fatigue.

The attendants hurriedly halted and looked back at the Crown Prince who had been coughing up blood that morning.

"Lower it."

Zhu Zaiji’s eyes flashed as he spoke a single word. The sedan chair landed steadily. He rose, stood under the palace gate with a slightly unsteady gait, and looked around.

The sky was just beginning to brighten. Inside and outside the Forbidden City, the morning bells tolled with a low hum. The Wanshou Palace, nestled by the Taiye Lake in the Western Park, stood with its divine towers and golden pavilions reflecting the dawn, glowing with unparalleled brilliance. Behind the palace gates, the faint sound of bells, drums, and music emanated from the main hall, accompanied by the even quieter sound of chanting.

Looking at all of this, Zhu Zaiji braced his knees and slowly knelt.

"Your son, Zaiji, requests an audience."

"Is Your Majesty well?"